


Smoke

by Shaddyr



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Self indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-11
Updated: 2003-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaddyr/pseuds/Shaddyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Muse speaks in the voices we know best...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Not your average ficlet. I had a crappy day at work. I came home and tried to write. This is what happened. It *IS* based on a true event.

I walk in the door, kick off my shoes, let my bag slip from my fingers. It comes to rest on the floor with a soft thud. It has been a hellacious day, and I am terribly grateful it is over.

I move slowly across the room, finally settling in front of the computer. As I turn the beast on, I yawn, tired from more than just a lack of sleep. I have not checked, but I am certain it was a full moon last night. Today I had to deal with people who could have put werewolves to shame. That thought reminds me of Oz, and that leads me full circle to my favourite vampire.

I am a Buffy fan. And more importantly, I am a Spike addict. No apologies.

I really want to write something today. I am waiting for the computer to figure out what it is doing. It wheezes and chugs away, reminiscent of the way I have been feeling all day. I think I shall close my eyes for just a second...

 

***

_I'm sitting in front of my computer, still fuming._

_"Bloody, ignorant, asshole, fucktard customers," I gripe. With petulant flare, I cross my arms and slouch low into my chair. "SPIKE!"_

_I sense his presence behind me an instant before I hear the soft swish of leather. "You bellowed?"_

_His voice is like liquid honey, thick and sweet and oh-so full of indulgent promise. His tone, however, is dry enough to suck the moisture out of a cactus at 20 paces. I can hear the smirk in it. And I'm not in the mood._

_"Shitty day," I complain. "Must kill things. Need blood and mayhem. Need them *now*."_

_I hear an indelicate snort. Followed by a *scrrrrratch* and a *sizzle*. Abruptly, the acrid smell of cigarette smoke and a faint hint of sulfur fill the air._

_"Wish you'd buy a bloody lighter, pet." He leans against the edge of the desk, and I scowl as he casually flicks ashes at random. I hand him an ashtray, and he regards the proffered ceramic dish as if it were dead vermin. Eventually he takes it and sets it down beside him._

_I turn my attention back the merrily blinking cursor. The one winking at me from the big. fat. blank. screen. "Hello, I need some *help* here!"_

_"Yeah, yeah, don't get your knickers in a twist." He takes a long drag on his cigarette, and I watch the tip glow bright red for a moment. It fades behind the ash as he pulls it from his mouth and tilts his head back to blow elaborate smoke rings in the air. I roll my eyes as he amuses himself for a moment. Shortly he turns his attention back to me._

_"Right. What is it then? Some new prophecy come to light? Big bad need vanquishing?" His eyes take on a special gleam. "Maybe Angelus is back and needs his ass kicked, yeah?" I shake my head, and he continues, undaunted. "I know! More of that bloody awful sap you lot are so big on." He grins, and I can see the wheels in his brain churning out all sorts of delicious ideas. "Me'n the slayer, hot and heavy. Yeh, I bet that's what…" He trails off as he finally glances my way and notices that I am giving him The Look._

_"Wot?" he demands, frowning._

_"Me. Had. Craptastic. Day." I explain slowly, as if to a particularly stupid person. Or vampire. "Me. Wants. Vengeance."_

_He sighs dramatically as he realizes that he doesn't get to play right now. "Right, love," he concedes. "Tell us all about it."_

_I pout. "He made me feel *stupid*, Spike. Incompetent! Like I was a rookie on my first day. He was totally condescending! And rude! And... and..." I struggled for an appropriately horrible descriptor. "He had stupid hair, too!"_

_He cocks an eyebrow at me as he takes another drag, then does head tilt #28: The skeptical look. "Thought you worked in the call centre, love."_

_I scowl at him. "Okay, okay, he sounded like he had stupid hair. Fuck off. That's not the point, and you know it."_

_He smirks again, but I let it go because he has me and *I* know it and I am going to pretend it never happened._

_"Anyway."_

_He nods, stares off into the ether as he grinds the butt out. I harrumphe when I glanced down to discover he has managed to get the ashes everywhere but *in* the ashtray. Sometimes, I don't know why I bother..._

_"Sounds like he was a right evil wanker. In need of a good killing. Prolly a demon, even." The gleam from earlier was coming back. "What'd you have in mind then?"_

_"Pain. Torture. Dismemberment. Forcing him to listen to New Kids on the Block on endless loop for 24 hours straight. You know. The usual."_

_He shudders. "You're mighty brassed off then. Remind me to never get on your bad side. New Kids? That's cruel and unusual punishment, innit?"_

_"Your point being?"_

_Again with the eyebrow. "And they call *me* evil."_

_I just smile, before turning back to the screen, fingers resting lightly over the keyboard, waiting for inspiration to strike._

_"Right. Here we go, then."_

_He leans steps over to stand behind me, leaning over, placing a hand on the desk on either side of me. His chin rests just about my right shoulder, his lips inches from my ear, and I am encapsulated by the musky leather/whiskey/smoke scent that is uniquely *Spike*. Anticipation builds. Just when I think I'm going to scream he begins to speak, and I am distracted momentarily by the feel of his cool breath caressing my ear. Focus, focus..._

_"Alright pet. Here's how we're going to wank it. Set this one in right after that fateful Halloween..."_

***

I awake with a start. I was more exhausted then I realized to doze off while the compute was booting up. I stumble out of the chair and make my way to the kitchen to pour myself something to drink.

_Perhaps I should just go to bed _I think to myself even as I make my way back to the computer, cup in hand. I can always write a little something tomorrow. I can't see how I'm going to get anything done when I'm falling asleep at the keyboard.

Then I set the drink down on my desk and my fingers find the keys and suddenly I am typing. And there are ideas that have been swirling, muddled thoughts in my head for so long that I can hardly differentiate between them. And as letters form words and words form sentences, paragraphs grow and an idea begins to solidify. I smile as I realize the muse has decided to grace me with her presence, and decide that I don't really need 7 full hours of sleep tonight anyway.

In the back of my mind, some place removed from the clacking of keys and the flow of the plot, a small part of me is curious about the smell of cigarette smoke that seems to linger in the air.


End file.
